


Meet Me in a Sea of Lavender

by mia6363



Series: Kintsugi Lovers [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, I hang my head in shame, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Pining, Really Awkward Meet-Cutes, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Soulmates, Technically Second-Meeting, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, i just want all these characters to be loved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 04:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia6363/pseuds/mia6363
Summary: Unique.Whenever his parents or doctors had used that word in regards to the array of colors and shapes on his inner right thigh, he knew that what they meant to say wasstrange. Irregular. Abnormal.Which was just fine… because if there was anyone who was abnormal, it was Finstock.





	Meet Me in a Sea of Lavender

Bobby Finstock swung his legs over the elevated lifeguard chair, the backs of his calves bumping against the white wood. He kept his silver aviators on the lake water, where a few lingering kids played. He tapped his fingers on his knee, doing his best to not look bored. The sun hung low in the sky, sending honey-gold sunset streaks glimmering over the water. The obnoxious orange shorts he had to wear were too short, a constant meditative practice to ignore the feeling of them riding up his thighs. 

It was the summer of 1994 and the week had been humid and hot, setting a new heat wave record for Massachusetts. 

The cicadas were in full screech mode and folks were beginning to pack up and head home. The last kid left the water and Finstock leaned against the back of his chair. Within the week he’d have to head back to college to finish his last year, then… who knows. He stretched, his back popping in a few places, and hopped down from the chair, landing in the sand without stumbling. 

The world of finance made sense, was easy enough to follow and manipulate… but the people drove him nuts. 

_Then again, most things drive me nuts,_ Finstock glowered in the face of the setting sun. 

“Excuse me,” Finstock jumped, turning to see a man a few years younger than him. A little girl was riding on his back, sleeping with her head resting on his shoulder. “I couldn’t help but notice your soulmark,” the words made Finstock blush and he tugged his shorts down even though it didn’t matter. “It’s quite unique.” 

_Unique._ Whenever his parents or doctors had used that word in regards to the array of colors and shapes on his inner right thigh, he knew that what they meant to say was _strange. Irregular. Abnormal._ Which was just fine… because if there was anyone who was abnormal, it was Finstock. 

He shrugged, rolling his lip between his teeth because the word itself made him irritated, even though the way the man said it… sounded like he really meant _beautiful._

“It matches my loud and obnoxious personality.” 

Finstock grinned, though it was less of a smile and more baring his teeth. He was tired. He wanted to go home. He wanted to savor the last few moments of summer left before he had to go back to school and figure out what substance was going to numb him enough to pursue the career he’d trained for. 

There was no one left on the beach and the moment the sun sank below the horizon, the sky became bruised with deep indigos and purples. Finstock pushed his sunglasses up, getting them tangled in his hair as he blinked his eyes into focus, letting them adjust to the dark. 

“I wouldn’t call you obnoxious, yet.” The man had a handsome face, the kind that belonged to another time. This guy had the crooked smile of a cigarette ad from the 50s, black-and-white smiles hiding something slimy and sinister. Finstock shivered as that smile widened. “Not subtle, but not obnoxious.” The man shifted the kid on his back, somehow slipping her off and into his arms without waking her. He gently held her out. “Could you hold her for just a moment, after that I promise I’ll fuck off.” 

_Just like you’ve silently been begging me to_ was not said but loudly heard. Finstock’s lips twitched and he took the kid off the man’s hands. 

“There you go,” he whispered even though the little girl wasn’t awake, her breaths shallow and soft on his shoulder as he did his best to hold her. Finstock wasn’t the kind of guy who looked like he’d be good with kids, who mothers would take a look at his face and think _yeah, I want that guy to be responsible for my child._ The man didn’t bat an eye, and Finstock barely had time to be awed before the man was rolling up the right leg of his swim trunks. “What,” his voice was too loud and the girl stirred. Both men froze, the stranger glaring at Finstock. _“What the hell are you doing?”_

Finstock whispered, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Even as he asked the question, he already knew, and the man _knew_ that Finstock _knew._ His hands shook, the kid in his arms made a quiet sound, and Finstock’s soulmark was reflected back at him, on a stranger’s inner right thigh. 

“I figured I should introduce myself,” the handsome bastard smoothed out his trunks, covering the mark that burned in Finstock’s mind. “I’m Peter Hale.” 

With a quick shift of the kid’s weight in his arms, Finstock was able to shake his soulmate’s hand. 

“Bobby Finstock.” 

The little girl in his arms was Laura Hale, Peter’s niece, and the only reason Peter happened to be on that beach was because of the family vacation they took. Their original plans for New York fell through, and Massachusetts was their second choice. He lived in California. He was going to Berkeley. 

The statistics of them ever meeting were low, but they managed, little pieces and details sliding together until Finstock’s stupid orange shorts rode up at the right time and Peter happened to look in his direction. They exchanged phone numbers, and when the technology was available, email. 

Finstock never did go to Wall Street, which was probably for the best, in terms of his health and his soulmate. Instead, he moved to Beacon Hills to teach Economics to punk kids. 

After a year of living together, Peter traced around the mark lightly with his fingers, his chest pressed against Finstock’s back as he held his legs open with a strong grip. Light enough that it didn’t tickle, but consistent enough to make Finstock’s cock twitch. 

“If you’ve looked at other people’s marks, they’re usually much more simple, two components, one for each person.” Peter’s nail dragged over the streak of yellow that collided with a dark, almost blank indigo. “It’s obvious the yellow is you.” Peter’s other hand squeezed Finstock’s cock. “Bright. Loud.” Finstock had no experience with men before Peter. Peter was an _eager_ teacher. Finstock’s head fell back against Peter’s shoulder, his flush spreading down his neck. “Optimistic. _Good.”_

Each word was punctuated with a lazy pull, a skim of teeth against his shoulder, and the hint of tongue on his ear. Finstock nipped at Peter’s stupid sharp jawline. 

“What, and you’re the darker mark?” It was the same shape and consistency as the yellow burst and streaks, a perfect reflection. Finstock smiled, pressing his teeth against Peter’s stubble. “Pretentious prick.” 

That got him a hard squeeze. 

“One of us has to be brilliant and ruthless.” Peter was quiet for a few moments, long enough for Finstock to be worried, until Peter kissed his cheek. Sweetly, like he wasn’t keeping Finstock on the edge simply because _I like the way your skin gets flushed just for me._ “I like how you and I compliment each other.” 

Already, folks in the neighborhood had started calling them the _Night and Day_ pair. Coarse meets refined, obscenity meets eloquence, and eccentricity meets beauty. 

The nights when Peter took his time, using his voice to keep Finstock spiraling, were usually when Peter wanted something. Hell, the one time they argued over couch colors, Peter got his way after four hours of the best sex of Finstock’s life. 

It worked for them. 

So when Peter kept talking, Finstock struggled to think about what Peter was trying to say. That was half of the maddening challenge, because Finstock could posit a question in his mind, but Peter would do his best to erase it with teeth and tongue. 

“How much have you read about soulmarks?” 

Peter asked the question like they were at brunch, not slowly building Finstock back up, his teeth skimming the back of his neck which left Finstock shuddering. 

“What— I don’t _know,_ Peter. What we read about in school? Perfect— _ah_ — matches and all that— _fucking Christ_ — shit.” 

Peter took his hand away from Finstock’s dick. Finstock turned, to ask what was wrong, but Peter pressed his fingers against Finstock’s mark. The dashes of color, vibrant yellow colliding with dark, midnight blue, were like lightning or waves crashing into each other. Other marks Finstock had seen always seemed simpler. Calmer. Good thing Finstock and Peter weren’t simple or calm men. 

“This part intrigues me.” Peter circled around the two flashes of color. A softer lilac was the backdrop, like a flower petal, sweet, and subtle. “So soft you almost can’t see it, but definitely there, holding us together.” Finstock felt Peter’s breath on his skin, warm air that left goosebumps behind. “I think we have a third.” The words hit Finstock like a brick, and his cock twitched. Peter noticed. Peter noticed _everything._ “Mm. Excited?” 

Finstock twisted around, pushing Peter until he was flat on his back. He straddled him, enjoying the brief look of shock that Peter had, like Finstock had been hypnotized into wanting him, loving him. _Nope,_ Finstock ran his hands down Peter’s chest, grinding his hips down so he could watch Peter’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek. _I love you all on my own, you handsome bastard._

“Yeah.” Bobby grinned, chasing the flush that spread down Peter’s neck with his teeth, nipping and biting, his asymmetrical features a perversion, like oil spilling over a canvas. He rolled his tongue over Peter’s nipple, humming against the _Oh f-fuck_ from Peter. “Can’t wait to see what we’ll do to you.” 

Finstock watched Peter’s orgasm happen like a building demolition. It started with a crack of the foundations, a quivering thigh, a hitched breath, wide eyes, and a little hiccup of time before it all came falling down. 

“You, I was going to—” 

He comes like that, surprised, bewildered, and a little annoyed. It was one of Finstock’s favorite looks on him. Finstock rubbed his thumb along Peter’s cheekbones, smiling lazily as Peter struggled to catch his breath. 

“What,” Finstock smirked, “you thought you’re the only one who can be devious?” 

Peter laughed, loud and not practiced, the wrinkles by his eyes and mouth deepening, his teeth glinting in the dark. Even as he giggled, his hands gripped Finstock’s hips and _pulled._

::::

Sweat dripped down the back of Finstock’s neck as the words _Sorry man, we thought they told you_ rattled around in his brain. He didn’t have time to dissolve into the fiery rage that this deserved, the contractors staring at him like they weren’t dropping a bomb on him. His fingers were numb and he checked his watch.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ , can I have… fifteen minutes? The rooms need to be cleared out.” 

The contractors shrugged and Finstock took off down the empty Beacon Hills High hallways. 

It was summer of 2018 and the _idiots_ in charge of the school neglected to tell Finstock that the boy’s locker room was going to be under intense construction _starting today._ He cursed, running down the halls and tried to think of who would even be in this early during the summer, when he saw an open classroom door. 

Finstock slammed into it, not flinching when the door hit the wall and a young woman jumped up. She whirled around, boxes around her and a few rolled up posters. Supplies. She was a teacher, but Finstock had never seen her in his life. He blinked, momentarily off balance. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

The woman tilted her head slightly, not offended, but not blissfully optimistic. 

“I’m new.” 

He didn’t have time to do niceties, though Peter would argue that Finstock _never_ had time for basic politeness. 

“Look, they’re about to tear my shit out in the locker room and I’m not fucking paying for new equipment because of some bulslhit construction, could you please help me? I don’t have enough hands.” 

The woman didn’t hesitate, jogging with him down the hall. Finstock propped the locker room open and they went to work. 

Finstock was all about making plays, and those grueling fifteen minutes were no different. When he’d yell, “Box me,” the new girl threw him a box, when he kicked one over to her, she loaded it with smaller supplies, and she’d yell “Finished” before she’d kick the box out into the hall. 

For the sticks, the argument over who was going to run them back to his office was short. She insisted that she was faster, and after the first run, she was right. It was “hit me, hit me, hit me, stop,” and then she’d run down what she could carry. In the end, it took them seventeen minutes to clear Finstock’s office in the locker room as well as all the equipment. 

One of the workers clipped Finstock’s shoulder as him. The new teacher carried the last stack of boxes, sweat soaking through their clothes. Finstock sat on his tile floor, spreading out his arms. It only took a few moments for the new girl to do the same, her chest heaving, bits of her hair falling out of her ponytail and sticking to the side of her face. 

“Thanks,” Bobby wheezed between breaths, “I fucking owe you one. I owe you like… twenty. Twenty owes.” His heartbeat slowed back down to an acceptable rhythm. “I’m Bobby Finstock.” 

He sat up and offered his hand. She took it and without having to say a word, they both used each other’s weight to pull the other up. She smiled, wiping forehead with the back of her wrist.

“Kira Yukimura.” 

He helped her set up her classroom the rest of that day until her boxes were empty and they both took a step back, hands on their hips, and evaluated the space. Kira blew out a breath and Finstock nodded. 

She was from New York, had been fencing since she was seven, and when the right jokes were told, would laugh like she’d broken out of prison. 

When Finstock casually dropped “and then I married my soulmate and moved out here,” she didn’t pepper him with a thousand questions. Well meaning or no, there was only so much _did it feel like the whole world stopped just for you_ he could take. They became fast friends, and so it wasn’t uncommon for her to come over when Peter was out of town for work. 

“They get worse and worse every year. Give it time, Kira.” 

Kira had notebooks spread out on Finstock’s living room floor. They moved the couch to give them space to spread out files and reports for the upcoming Parent-Teacher conference. Kira’s was much more organized, full of colorful post-its and tabs. She held essays in her hand, a pink highlighter gripped tight between her teeth. 

“I don’t believe you,” she spoke around the marker. 

Finstock’s mess was on the far side of the room, the pizza box between them as they sorted through each kid one by one, stopping when they had an overlapping student. Kira was quiet, never interjecting or interrupting, but it was worth waiting for insight, or if Finstock was lucky, brutally sly jokes. 

Peter had to travel for his job, and even though Finstock rarely admitted it… he’d get lonely by the end of the duration. The silence in his house would start to ache, the empty bed too cold to sleep in, and the kitchen table too formal to use it for himself. Peter missed him too, Finstock knew it because of how he’d return, long kisses, longer nights of fucking, making love, and then back to fucking. Peter would say it too, choked in an orgasm or a whisper before he fell asleep.

_I missed you._

“So,” Kira put the last of her papers to the side. “How did you and your husband meet?” 

Finstock barked a laugh. 

“On a beach. Well, a lake beach. More like a patch of damp grass.” Kira laughed, rolling her eyes and she kicked at feet. Finstock cackled, easily catching her ankle between his feet and pulling, just enough to make her fall back on her elbows through peals of laughter. “I’m not going to romanticize this for you.” 

Kira pushed herself back up, a stray post-it stuck to her cheek. 

“That’s fine, but you always use hyperbole in the negative.” 

Finstock shrugged.

“Whatever, it’s funny.” He rubbed his eyes as Kira righted herself, still smiling. He hummed. “Well, it was the summer before my last year of college, and I had a gig lifeguarding down at one of the state parks. The key component to this whole story were these tiny, neon orange shorts I’d had to wear—” Kira snorted, covering her mouth as if that would be enough to hide her grin. “What? It’s true!” 

It only made Kira laugh harder, almost spilling her water as Finstock got up on his feet. 

 

“Kira,” he waited for her to peek up at him from behind her fingers. “This is how short they were.” He put his fingers on his thighs, briefly pressing over his mark. A brief, electric tingle jolted down his spine, a common sensation that happened whenever he touched his mark, even if it was through his pants. “And my thighs were paper white. Probably almost blinded him like high beams in the rearview mirror.” 

Kira’s head fell back, delightful laughter bubbling from her lips like champagne. Finstock rode the wave of laughter, the rhythm of how her breath stuttered, and was ready to hit back, to clip his teeth around exaggeration after exaggeration— 

The door swung open and Finstock’s breath left him in a _whoosh._ Peter stood in the door, a full day ahead of schedule. His hair was a bit frizzy, and twenty years of marriage let Finstock read the tiny signs of exhaustion. A pull at his mouth, a quick series of blinks before straightening his shoulders almost imperceptibly. His husband’s eyes flickered to Finstock, then to Kira. Kira began to twist around, but Peter’s analysis had already finished right before Finstock ran up and kissed him. 

“You’re early,” Finstock whispered between kisses. 

Peter hummed, biting on Finstock’s lower lip, lazily sucking it between his teeth for a moment. 

“I missed you.” Peter pulled back and his smile smoothed out into something more sleek as he turned to Kira. “I apologize, that was so rude of me.” He stepped around the couch, waiting as Kira jumped to her feet, brushing a few bits of lint off herself before she shook his hand. “I’m Peter, Bobby’s husband. You must be Kira—”

“Yukimura.”

She finished her name, her cheeks pink. Peter smiled, oozing charm. 

“I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He squeezed her hand before letting go. “If you’re friends with my husband, you must have good taste.” 

“Eh,” Kira shrugged, the tips of her ears still pink, “not good. Just specific?” 

Peter’s eyes widened, the same way they would when Finstock still managed to surprise him after all these years. Finstock clapped his hand on his husband’s shoulder and laughed. 

::::

They were known as the _Night and Day_ pair in Beacon Hills. Peter didn’t mind the nickname. When he’d swirl his tongue over the mark on Finstock’s thigh, or when Finstock’s thumb would graze over the matching mark on Peter, he thought the name was accurate. Yellow and blue. Light and dark. Maniac and Machiavellian. 

For all his young life, his soulmark had made his mother uncomfortable. The vivid colors, the blatant fact that there were three components instead of usual two. It made Peter tougher, it made him value being _unique._ At his wedding, with Finstock’s hands in his as the officiator read their vows, as their families were forced to sit together and _witness_ them, Peter thought _look at what you wish you could have, and be envious._ He lived his life decadently, extravagantly, working hard so he could lose himself in life’s pleasures even harder. 

Being a consultant was natural for Peter, a career that fit him like a glove. As much as he loved it, travel was often required. The absence was always felt, but when he’d come home it would be worth it, for the kisses, the pulls to bed, and when they were too exhausted to care about decorum— soft, whispered, honest affection. 

They were wonderful together… and during their times apart… Peter wondered about their third.

Who were they? What did they like? How did they like to express affection? Were they soft? Were they hard? 

Peter returned back to home base, small suitcase rolling behind him. He opened his office door to see his nephew sucking a mean bruise onto his assistant’s neck. Peter yawned, his jaw cracking. 

“Take these,” he tossed his bathroom keys in their direction. Stiles caught them. He always was the smart one. “You have five minutes. Make them count.” 

Derek had the decency to blush, while Stiles just dragged him out the door, keys twirling between his fingers. As the office door swung shut, Peter pulled the slightly crumpled files that Stiles prepped for him that morning and thumbed through them. Companies in crisis. Paranoid executives jumping at every shadow. All of them willing to pay anything for a feeling of security. The one offering the most money would require a two week consultation in Colorado. Another wanted three weeks in Nevada. 

Peter’s phone pinged. 

A new picture came in from Finstock. He was outside on the lacrosse field, a slew of kids and teachers in the background, divided into groups by wearing different colors. He had his arm around Kira, their faces painted with white lines and they both wore green shirts. It was the last day of the school year, which meant Field Day was in full swing. Each section of the school was divided by where the classrooms were located and that was how the teams were formed. 

Kira and Finstock were put on the same team. _Cute,_ Peter typed. _Kick everyone’s ass._

Stiles returned four minutes and forty-five seconds later, not a button out of place and a swagger in his step. Peter rolled his eyes but still gestured to the chair on the opposite of his desk. Stiles took it, and they went to work. 

It was funny, soulmates. A random symbol. With racing technology, websites made it easier to find each other. Peter and Finstock hadn’t had the internet, it was just random chance, and it still worked. And even if they had never found each other, Peter knew they would have both lived a full life. He was just lucky to _still_ be doing that _with_ his soulmate. Well, one of his soulmates. 

“What’s on your mind, boss?” Stiles scrolled through emails, his eyes meeting Peter’s over his laptop. “You’ve been pretty quiet.” 

Stiles had posted his mark online, but Derek hadn’t. Peter had hired Stiles because he had a great resume, references, and was smarter than the rest of the idiots that had uh-huhed their way through an interview. 

After four fantastic months of Stiles exceeding Peter’s already high expectations, he treated the young man to a lunch when it was his birthday. They ordered too much, laughed too loud, and by _chance_ , their waiter had slipped and spilled an entire pitcher of water down Stiles’s shirt. A dozen frantic apologies, one shivering assistant and one of Peter’s spare shirts he always kept in his car later, Stiles stripped his soaked shirt off in the parking lot, shivering in a tank top as Peter traded his dry shirt of Stiles’s wet one. 

Stiles took it and turned around, relishing in the illusion of privacy as if Peter hadn’t seen his chest. Peter leaned against his car, intending to kill some time on his phone. But he glanced up and saw the long stretch of a black mark on Stiles’s shoulder, a curled swirl that branched off into three points. 

He felt the details slotting together. A capable assistant, treating them on their birthday, a clumsy waiter, a spare shirt in Peter’s trunk, and a cursory glance. 

All those moments had to link together at just the right time or everything would have fallen apart. 

Peter had seen that mark before, on his nephew’s back. And just like that, Stiles Stilinski had been matched. Not because of posts he’d contributed to online, but by chance. 

“What I’m about to say needs to stay between us.” Stiles straightened, his foot darting out to kick Peter’s door shut. He held his notepad closer to him, his knuckles white as he gripped a black ballpoint pen. “Bobby and I… we are soulmates, but our mark, it’s complex. I believe we have a third,” Peter waved his hand carelessly in the air, forcing himself to appear lackadaisical, “out there in the world.” 

Stiles’s eyes were wide, his mouth slack. 

“That’s… really rare, Peter.” 

Peter grinned. 

“Well, you always say I’m dramatic.” 

Stiles snorted with a roll of his eyes. 

“I’m serious.” Stiles leaned forward, resting his elbows on Peter’s desk as he lowered his voice. “That’s like lightning in a bottle rare.” 

Normally, Peter would preen because of course Peter deserved rarity. And he had Finstock, who himself was a rarity, no matter how much he would claim otherwise. They’d waited over twenty years… and whoever their third was did not make themselves known. 

“Lately,” Peter’s foot bounced under his desk, “I’ve been wondering about them. I don’t think _impatient_ is the right word—” Peter sighed. “What site would you recommend for… uploading an image to try and find our third that way?” 

Stiles grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“You’re the old man asking the young kid for help with _the internet_ oh my God—”

Peter went to swat at him, and while Stiles laughed, he knew that he’d have a whole powerpoint presentation ready by the end of the day. After Peter wrapped up his lunch, his husband sent him another picture. The white stripes on his face had smeared, and Kira was barely in frame as a trophy gleamed between them. 

The caption _GO TEAM GREEN_ had Peter smiling. 

:::::

A strange, perverse thrill ran up Peter’s spine as he stepped into the boys locker room at Beacon Hills High. Even though it was summer and the school was empty, Peter still wore a secretive smile as the door closed behind him, his shoes silent against the tile. He walked past lockers and the entrance to the showers until he was at Finstock’s lacrosse office. 

His husband glanced up, the reading glasses sliding down his nose as Peter closed and locked the door behind him. 

Finstock grinned and Peter barely had to move before he was being kissed, all teeth and tongue. Peter didn’t waste time pushing Finstock back into his chair, running his hands up and under his shirt. He had a long break from work, and he didn’t want to waste a moment. He stole Finstock’s breath until his husband had to pull back, sucking in air as Peter scraped his teeth down Finstock’s neck, sucking marks onto his pale skin. 

“God,” Finstock was hard, his erection pushing against his fly. Peter sank to his knees and his husband’s face flushed scarlet, his pupils blown wide and dark. “ _Oh God.”_

Bobby had a beauty about him, flushed and out of breath. All the obscenities dripped off his tongue as Peter yanked on his pants until they were bunched around his knees. 

Peter liked things that were different, sharply contrasting, and unique. Why would he want a widely held standard? He created tastes and trends, he didn’t have any interest in following them. 

Rough, calloused fingers wove through his hair, petting and pulling in hypnotic pulses, in time with the easy roll of his hips. Peter pulled his lips off Finstock’s cock, ignoring the harsh exhale from his husband. He left small bites up Finstock’s thigh, one hand holding his right leg open, the other lazily squeezing his balls. 

When his tongue swiped over the mark, over the orange, blue, and lavender, Finstock slapped his hand over his own mouth, muffling his whimpers as his cock jumped, slapping against his abdomen. 

“Peter,” Peter looked up, smirking at Finstock’s bitten-red lips and splotchy-pink cheeks. “Peter, please.” 

_Anything my soulmate asks of me,_ Peter thought, taking his husband’s cock back into his mouth, eyelashes fluttering at the weight of it against his tongue, _I will happily provide._

Establishing a familiar rhythm, his thumb pressed in the center of Finstock’s soulmark, Peter dragged his tongue along the underside of Finstock’s cock, swirling his tongue and humming with humor when Finstock’s hips would jerk. Bobby’s fingers tightened in his hair, his hands shaking with heightened arousal and slight guilt at how he shallowly thrusted into Peter’s mouth. 

Bobby’s fingers slipped down Peter’s temple, his thumb catching on the corner of Finstock’s mouth, feeling how his cock made Peter’s lips _stretch—_

The doorknob rattled, turning and immediately stopping thanks to the lock. Peter pulled back, just enough so that the head of Finstock’s cock rested on his lower lip. He looked up at his husband and Finstock _shuddered_ beneath him, his breaths shallow, eyes shining and wild. He watched Finstock’s Adam’s apple bob, his fingers trembling, a gently pressure on Peter’s head.

“Bobby?” 

Kira’s voice was like a silver bell, sharp and pretty. Bobby’s cock pulsed, and Peter raised his eyebrows, Bobby covering his mouth as his face reddened further. He didn’t say anything, and Peter gave him a vicious suck, making his husband double over, his fingers gently guiding him. Outside, he heard Kira sigh and shift something around, digging around in her bag. 

When he heard the jangling keys it was already too late. Bobby’s thrusts were getting shorter and shorter, Peter was going mad because he could feel it coming, and he wanted nothing more than to see his husband’s face. 

Peter’s shoulders jumped when he heard the metal click-click-click of a key sliding into a lock. He drew back, Finstock’s frantic _fuck-fuck-fucks_ like white noise, and Peter’s mind was blank, a mixture of panic and twisted _curiosity._ He drew back fast, fast enough that his teeth brushed the head of Finstock’s cock—

The door opened, Kira gasped, and Finstock came with a sob, his come streaking across Peter’s face. 

Peter released Finstock’s legs, his fingers gently touching his face, rubbing over his bruised lips. He didn’t have to look at his husband to know that Finstock’s hand covered his face, his shoulders shaking with shame. Peter had plenty of words on his lips, but that was before he saw Kira’s face. 

Soft pink hues spread up her neck to her cheeks. She held a wrapped present in one hand, keys in the other. But that wasn’t what had any sense of eloquence dry up on Peter’s tongue. 

It was her eyes. 

Wide, unblinking, and staring at the very visible soulmark on Finstock’s thigh. Her breaths came short, the present fell from her grip, but her eyes… were tracing over bursts of color, all encompassed by a soft lavender. Peter _knew_ that rush of _recognition._

“Sorry,” the spell was broken, Kira jerked back with her hands over her eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

She turned on her heel, walking quickly away, but Peter heard the swift walk turn into a run. Finstock sobbed behind him, but for a completely different reason. 

“Fuck,” his husband wheezed. _“Fuck.”_

Peter wiped his face, getting up and ignoring how his knees popped. He didn’t have time to feel embarrassment. Not when they’d found their third.

:::::

There were were warning signs, before any of the information came to a head, that Kira would recall later. 

She never learned how to swim. When she went to school, her mother always provided a doctor’s note that would make the gym teachers glance at Kira, before sitting her down on the bleachers. Most of the time she was ignored, watching kids tread water, learn proper strokes, and hold their breath without having to pinch their nose. Year after year, Kira wondered what the chlorine water felt like, what it meant to cup her hands, to move them so that she could keep her head above water. 

One year, a teacher sat next to her. She was younger, blonde, and pretty with freckles that Kira had always envied. 

_“Kira,”_ the gym teacher sat close but not too close, _“the doctor’s note your mom gave us,”_ and Kira’s heart began to beat faster. No one had ever spoken to her about it before, no one had bothered after first glancing at the slip of paper. She met the teacher’s eyes and was very careful to not move. _“Something seemed strange about it to me.”_

She explained that she went to the same doctor. That she thought that the signature didn’t look quite right. 

Kira thought about her mother and father. How her dad hissed her mother’s name as she wrote the note herself, replicated the signature, and slipped it into Kira’s backpack. Kira said nothing. No teachers asked any questions. 

When they went on vacations, it was never to the beach. Kira barely thought about it, because she was too busy hiking, exploring caves, going on tours, and taking pictures at museums. One year, they even went to a fair. Kira remembered holding her father’s hands, her eyes wide at all the lit up rides, kids spinning and screaming with the smell of powdered sugar on the breeze. She remembered running from one place to another, each ride and attraction more exciting than the next. 

The sun had been bright that day, and Kira had been wearing the long pants that her mother liked. She didn’t notice that her skin felt strange, that her hands were clammy, and that her movements felt sluggish, like she was moving through honey. 

She tripped. Or… she fell. Kira wasn’t sure. She woke up to something wet on her face, a cloth, and someone was fanning her. 

_“Just let her wear shorts, Noshiko,”_ Kira’s hand weakly reached for her father. He took it, his fingers closing around her small hand. _“She **fainted.** ”_

_“No.”_ Her mother was farther away. Her voice was cold, like marble. _“No. Next time, she’ll drink more water.”_

Little things kept building and building… until Kira was sixteen

Her parents weren’t soulmates. Her father’s mark was on the inside of his left wrist, and her mother’s was on her shoulder. Completely different shapes. But they worked together, at least, Kira thought they were well matched. Their marks were a singular color, like her classmates. 

At school, her friends were eager to casually talk about soulmates, some seniors already using the websites provided, trying to find their match. 

“It is a big world after all,” her friend Lydia reasoned, “I’m not going to leave it up to _chance_ to find my match out of seven billion potential candidates.” Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder, sliding in closer to Kira. “What about you? Going to upload your mark when you’re eighteen?” 

Kira felt the ever-present knot in her stomach tighten, groaning like strained fabric. The thing was, her parents never talked about soulmarks. Her dad was more okay with showing his, but her mother rarely showed hers. And Kira’s… 

The location was a problem. She realized she’d never owned a bathing suit. She was never allowed to go to pool parties. Her mother hated when she wore skirts, even if they were past her knees. Kira’s mark was on her thigh, and it disgusted her mother. 

It hit Kira harder than it should, and probably later than if she had been a genius like Lydia. She got up from their lunch table, head spinning. Lydia’s mark was on the back of her right ankle. It was one fuschia, and two distinctive shapes. Jackson’s mark was purple, and looked like cloud wisps. 

_Have I been stupid,_ Kira thought as she slammed into the girl’s bathroom, barely making it into the first stall before she was on her knees, throwing her lunch back up into the toilet, _or was I just scared?_ How long did she just keep quiet, too scared to meet her mother’s gaze, too scared to ask _is there something wrong with it? Why don’t you like to look at it?_

The bathroom door opened. 

“Kira,” it was Lydia. Kira flushed the toilet and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Kira,” Lydia helped her up off the floor. “Are you okay? Was it an allergic reaction?” 

Lydia was tough as nails, fierce to anyone who wasn’t her friend. Kira washed her mouth out, splashing her face even though it wouldn’t hide her reddened eyes. 

“I…” She sighed. Tired. Exhausted. “Could I show you my soulmark?” Lydia’s eyes widened. Kira needed to do it soon, or she’d be too scared. She could manage it if she was too shaky from adrenalin and misery. “It’s here,” she touched her inner right thigh through her jeans, “so if that’s too—” _perverted, disgusting, wrong, abnormal,_ “weird, I understand.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes. 

“What’s a few thighs between friends. Come on,” she moved to the handicapped stall. “Let’s do this.” Kira clung to the numbness, her fingers shaking as she unbuttoned her fly and pushed her jeans down. Lydia was two feet away, crouching down so she could get a better look. “Wow…”

“I haven’t shown it to anyone that… weren’t my parents.” Kira swallowed, feeling less numb with each passing second. “My mom. She doesn’t like it.” 

There was no _I think_ at the end. Kira knew. Lydia clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, her eyes narrowing. 

“Well, your mom is an idiot.” Lydia smiled. “This is rare, Kira. Really rare. That’s amazing.” 

“Rare doesn’t necessarily mean good,” Kira swallowed. “Diseases can be rare.” 

“Shut up.” Lydia didn’t touch her, she motioned to the mark, and Kira knew she was mimicking the main elements. “It’s so cool. You’re obviously the lavender, the solid base where these two loud components meet.” Lydia smiled. “Very loud. That _orange_ is bright. The blue, it’s not calm at all. A different kind of noise.” 

Not one soulmate. _Two._

Kira pulled her pants back up. The knot was starting to tie itself back in her abdomen. 

“Thanks for looking at it.” 

Kira was going to leave, maybe make an excuse and go to the nurse’s office, but Lydia was faster than her. She gently took Kira’s hand. 

“Hey,” and Lydia hugged her, tight and not refined. “I know… I know you’ve been put through some bullshit, but your mark is a _good thing,_ okay?” Lydia squeezed her tighter, like additional physical contact was necessary for the words to sink in. “Kira?” 

The first thing Kira did when she went to college was buy a bikini.

She never wore it. 

:::::

Bobby Finstock was an obscene delight and Kira adored him in his entirety. 

It was her second summer in Beacon Hills and Kira had spent most of the morning on her kitchen floor, carefully binding one of Finstock’s broken mugs back together. It was a long process, but one that Kira enjoyed… the act of taking something broken, and making the cracks the statement of the piece. 

Silver dust was mixed into the adhesive and Kira lost herself in the meditative push and pull that came with the reconstruction. 

Bobby was loud, wild, and free in a way that Kira deeply envied. He always seemed to be draped in bright colors, moving to a rhythm to a song that Kira desperately wanted to learn. Her hands trembled around the ceramic, and she moved to reattach the handle. 

He was her first friend in Beacon Hills, and had grown into… maybe one of the closest friends she had in her life. He made it easy to laugh, to join in with whatever drills he needed to have demonstrated for his team or arguing over budget points during staff meetings. It had gotten to the point where their peers would roll their eyes when they saw them together. They worked well as a team. Their peers said they were Good Cop (Kira) and and Bad Cop (Finstock). 

_It’s all bullshit, you know,_ Bobby would grin at her with his big teeth and deep lines in his face, whenever they’d have to stay late or she’d agree to assist with practice. _You’re just as much as a Bad Cop as me._

Cracks of silver mended the black ceramic mug together, where, in white bold text, simply read: _ASSHOLE._

It was one of Finstock’s favorites. When she’d visit him over the weekend, it was the first mug he’d pick for coffee. 

She found a suitable box for it and prepared it with wrapping paper. 

When she got dressed, she put on a pair of khaki shorts. She smoothed them out, tugging on the bottoms nervously. They were more than long enough. _Your mark is a good thing._ Kira swallowed and looked away from her reflection before she changed her mind. 

Bobby wasn’t at his house, so the school was the next stop. Kira used her keys to get in, and walked quietly down the empty halls. 

She’d moved as far away from home as she could without leaving the country. She didn’t have to take a teaching job in California, but she did. She didn’t have to leave the moment she got it… but she did. Her dad waited with her at the airport, his mouth drawn into a tight line. _Your mark,_ he whispered, mentioning Kira’s soulmark for the first time in her entire life, _it’s not your fault._

Kira had three bags checked in and her carry-on. Her whole life, packed away. She looked at her dad, really looked at him, the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth that weren’t laugh lines. Her jaw ached from how hard she clenched it. _I know that._ Kira’s reply was short, to the point, and then she was through security and on her flight out. 

When times were quiet and she was alone… she thought about her soulmates. Were they together? Were they far away? Were they happy? 

Bobby and Peter were happy, and Kira hated the additional knot in her stomach that tightened at the thought of them. Peter Hale was… well, to be honest, Kira didn’t know him that well. He was often traveling, and when he would come home, Kira felt awkward to stay. If his time was limited with his husband, she was sure having a young friend around was annoying. There were times when he’d insist she’d stay for dinner and… Kira still wasn’t sure what to think. 

He was handsome. Charming. Slick. He put on all the appearances of being personable without actually revealing information about himself. It was smart, but it always felt like Peter enjoyed keeping a distance. 

_Or maybe he doesn’t want to get to know the woman who’s so obviously got a crush on his soulmate._

He wasn’t in his classroom, which just left his office in the boy’s locker room. 

She thought of the mug, the beauty in its imperfections, and wondered if Peter saw the same things when he looked at Bobby. His harsh voice, his intense eyes, wild hair… if he valued the striking _oddities_ that formed his husband. Typical beauty was boring, passing out of style in an instant. 

Lasting beauty was in the imperfections. 

“Bobby?” 

Kira frowned, shifting the box to one hand so she dig her keys out of her pocket. Bobby gave her a copy two months into the school year. She shook the key, because the lock was tricky, and opened the door exactly the same way she had countless times before. 

For a moment, Kira thought she was dreaming… because Bobby was twisting, writhing, and desperate. _Breathless._ How many nights had she woken up, chasing the sensation of lips on hers, of teeth biting her shoulder lightly, and the burn of stubble on her skin punctuated by raspy laughter? Too many to count, where Kira would jerk awake, flushed, a warm and steady pulse between her thighs driving her mad that she’d immediately try to soothe with her fingers. 

She wasn’t dreaming… not in that moment, because Peter Hale was there, on his knees, pulling back just as Bobby came with a raw, devastating groan that Kira would never forget. Kira couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, and she had no idea where to look first. Did she spare a look at Peter, did she try to meet Bobby’s gaze, did she look at _his mouth,_ slack with bruised, wet lips, or did she… did she…

Look at his thighs. 

His open thighs, still quivering with the aftershocks, and the mark on his thigh. Bright orange colliding with dark blue… all overlaid on lavender. Kira had to do something, because Peter was wiping _come_ off his face and Kira was just standing there like a voyeuristic creep. 

Finstock’s present clattered to the ground.

“Sorry.” Kira blinked rapidly, but the mark was still there. _Not a trick of the light,_ she thought deliriously. “I’m sorry.” 

She backed away, letting the door swing shut behind her. She walked, her mind blissfully blank until her arms pushed open the front doors, until she was out under the sun and in fresh air.

:::: 

Peter gently wiped a cold towel over his husband’s face, his heart clenching with every hitched breath from Finstock. His shoulders jumped, his fingers tangled in Peter’s shirt as he shuddered. There were certain instances where Peter enjoyed Finstock’s tears. Their wedding while reading their vows, begging for more as Peter continues to tease him for hours, and in the quieter moments when a whispered _I love you_ would make them both misty-eyed. 

These tears… Peter did not enjoy. 

“She’s going to hate me.” Finstock pushes his shoulders in, his spine hunched. He shivered as he tried to make himself smaller. Peter drew him in for a hug, a little awkward since Finstock was sitting and Peter was standing, but he needed to feel him, even if it meant his husband’s face was pressed against his stomach. “P-Peter… she’s never going to talk to me again. And she has every right not to.” 

They were back at their house, though Finstock had started crying before then. It wasn’t a pretty sight, misery wasn’t beautiful. He breathed like he was falling down, like he kept tripping and losing his step. Peter brushed his thumb along his husband’s wet cheek. 

“Do you trust me?” 

Bobby pulled back, his eyes red rimmed and his face blotchy. 

“Of course I do,” a small wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows. His green eyes searched Peter’s, his breathing evening out as Peter carded his fingers through his hair. “I do, Peter.” 

Peter kissed his forehead, his fingers dragging down Bobby’s vertebrae one by one. 

“Then I ask you to trust me now.”

Driving to Kira’s apartment was easy, leaving Finstock back at their home was not. _Trust me, darling,_ Peter had kissed him, a reassurance for both of them. _I’ll be right back._ He walked up the stairwell and knocked three times. 

He did his best not to listen to the movement inside, to not latch onto every single sound with fascination. Finally, the door opened. Kira’s eyes widened, and he wondered if she expected Bobby… or, more likely, had _hoped_ for him. Peter smiled. 

“Good evening, Kira.” 

“Oh. Um, hi, Peter.” Peter can’t help but think about all his, admittedly limited, interactions with Kira. She was closer to his husband, _thick as thieves_ their coworkers would say, and she was tense around Peter. Always quick to excuse herself, to increase distance. _I wouldn’t want to intrude,_ she’d plead as Peter insisted she stay for dinner. He watched her now, how her eyes traced over his face, how her movements were stuttered as she opened her door. “Come in.” 

It was the first time he’d stepped into her apartment. 

Modest was a word he would use, minimal as well. Peter might have cared about the decor, but he had to look at Kira, he had to see his second soulmate. He had to make sure. She wrung her hands, scarlet and slouched. 

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed. “I didn’t mean to… see anything.”

“I know that.” Peter kept his voice calm, his posture relaxed. “Bobby apologizes. I do as well. We never meant to put you in that position. You never had a chance to consent to seeing anything and that’s the last thing he and I would ever want.” 

Kira nodded.

“I know.” She cracked a smile, a softer, less askew mirror of Bobby’s. “It was an accident.” He waited, letting seconds tick by, holding her gaze. _Say it,_ Peter felt his breaths get shorter, her neck hot as he waited and Kira gave him _nothing. Admit what you saw._ He wasn’t an idiot. He could see how she lingered when her and Bobby were together, how her entire being brightened, shined, just for him. _For us,_ Peter thought greedily, trying to will Kira into speaking. _Think of what you and I could do to our darling Bobby **together.**_ Kira swallowed, averting her eyes as she looked back to her kitchen. “I don’t have much, some coffee or tea, cheap brands,” her shoulders jumped again, “sorry—”

“You have a matching mark.” She whipped back around, stumbling back two steps. “Right here,” Peter pointed to his own thigh. “Orange and blue streaks, meeting in a circle of lavender.” Peter felt his smile lose its practiced, perfect charm. It was only then that he saw Kira relax, her shoulders lowering a bit as Peter continued, breathless. “We’ve been waiting for you.” 

“But,” Kira swallowed and Peter forced himself to stay where he was, “you already have each other. You’re happy.” 

He was. They were. 

“Of course. We’d also be happy if we’d never met, because I’m confident in Bobby’s ability to choose partners who make him happy. Him and I finding each other was pure chance.” 

Kira bit her lip. 

“Orange shorts, right?” 

Peter grinned. 

“I think he still has them somewhere. If you want to see them in action.” 

“Oh my God.” Kira covered her face, blushing for a much more delightful reason. “When he told me that the first time I thought I was gonna die.” 

Peter took a step forward until he could comfortably squeeze her arm, a rush of affection warming him when she pulled her hands away from her smiling face. 

“He has a habit of sneaking up on you, doesn’t he? Driving you crazy with his unique… well, _everything.”_

“I _know.”_ Kira was breathless and Peter knew he was just as bad. He wondered if their thoughts were similar, of the two of them driving Bobby out of his mind, of rope, blindfolds, and a partner who was just as dedicated to the cause. “He’s _beautiful.”_

He saw a shadow of guilt pass over her, which was unnecessary. He’d remind her, as often as he needed to. Peter cleared his throat. 

“I’d like to invite you over for dinner.” He let his fingers slide down her arm, delighting in how goosebumps sprung up on her skin. “Bobby would like it too.” 

Her hand twisted a bit, just so she could catch his fingers, weaving them together. She was smooth, soft, and sweet. She was a warm blanket on a cold day, a calm breeze compared to her two soulmates. One maniac. One evil genius. Peter smiled, crooked and unrefined. This time, Kira didn’t hesitate in returning it. 

::::

There were only so many dinner dates, lunches, and movie nights they could take. 

Bobby appreciated the dates, seeing Kira dress up for the two of them, relishing in how he made her laugh and how Peter made her _blush._ Kira might be the sweetest person he’d ever kissed. She liked to kiss him softly, her hands on the side of his face, cradling him as she would kiss him goodbye, one short, one longer, and longer, and _longer_ until they both had to pull away for air. 

When she kissed Peter, she was more unsure, but damn… if Bobby didn’t love watching his husband dip his tongue into her mouth, biting her lower lip with a confidence that made both her _and_ Bobby whimper. From the way her legs shook when she’d walk to her car, they were all aware that… they’d have to move forward. For everyone’s sanity. 

_“Bobby,”_ and _finally_ Bobby was where he’d been wanting to be for the past few months, between Kira Yukimura’s legs as she shuddered above him. She was softer than Peter in every respect, and he sank his teeth around her mark. Her hips jerked up and her clit bumped Bobby’s nose. “God, Bobby, I love your mouth,” he laved his tongue over the already-bruised indentations of teeth on her delicate skin. Her hands carded through his hair, making him look up at her flushed cheeks, her bare breasts, and honey-sweet smile. “You’re so beautiful like this, Bobby.” 

Peter was behind her on the bed, on his knees on the mattress while Bobby was on the floor, Kira sitting on the edge. His husband kissed just under Kira’s jaw and _oh,_ the shudder he got from that… Bobby wanted her to do it _again._

“He has a talented tongue.” Peter’s hands trailed up from Kira’s hips, gliding lightly over her stomach and up the sides of her breasts. He smirked at how she arched her back, how her head fell to rest against his shoulder. “When he isn’t busy finding new inventive ways to curse, his vulgarity can have… more productive uses.” 

Bobby chuckled and _God,_ Kira even jumped at how his breath puffed against her. 

“Fuck off, you two love it when I swear.” 

Peter rolled his eyes with a mocking _if you insist_ grin, but Kira… she nodded, her legs locking around his back and pulling him closer to her.

“I do,” and Bobby went to work, his fingers creeping up her thighs until he could slip a few inside her. “I do,” his tongue swirled around her clit and Kira kept squeezing him as Peter licked and bit down her neck, _“Bobby— Peter!”_

Bobby had been hard, aching, but the rush of his orgasm blindsided him. He hadn’t been touching himself, his own arousal an afterthought as he kept driving Kira to be louder, to take what she needed from him, and then… as her hips found a rhythm that they set together, with his tongue, her thighs, and his fingers massaging her from the inside, pressing, _reaching_ for the spot that would make her _scream—_

She was still building up to that when firecrackers of pleasure ignited under Bobby’s skin, his cock jerking as he came. _Untouched._

He vaguely heard Peter gasp _holy shit,_ but Kira was still chasing her high, her thighs quivering, squeezing in time with Peter pinching her nipples. _I love them,_ Bobby thought, his body slipping forward like he was drunk. He groaned against Kira and she froze. 

Kira whimpered, high and soft, as she came, going slack _beautifully_ against Peter, whining when Bobby slipped his fingers out of her. He was a little dizzy, his chest and fingers were numb. His knees were shaking, and he almost fell back down to the floor when he caught a glance at his bed. 

Kira was stretched out, her flush spreading down her chest, and turned just a bit so that Peter could kiss her, his hands holding her steady. The way their sheets were crumpled around them, moonlight coming in from the windows… and then Kira parted for breath, lips shining… and she _looked_ at him like he was the Second Coming. 

“Christ,” Bobby’s throat bobbed. “You two look like a fucking Renaissance painting.” 

His knees throbbed a bit, but it was worth it when they hit the mattress. Kira sat up, reaching for him. 

“I want to—” She glanced down at his spent cock. “Oh. When did you—?” 

“He came moments before you did, sweet girl.” Peter’s voice was like a snake in the grass, dangerous and cunning. _Both of them_ were staring at Bobby like he was a seven course meal and they were starving. Kira’s was more sincere, while Peter was more… predatory. “I was surprised a bit myself.” 

Kira blinked, licking her lips idly as she thought about when it must have happened. Both Bobby and Peter were distracted by her tongue, though that changed when she spoke. 

“Next time I want to see it.” 

Bobby wasn’t a stranger to talking in the bedroom. Hell, Peter rarely shut up because he knew how Bobby would get weak-kneed at just the right amount of seduction and sleaze. Kira was different. Her voice was crystal clear, her eyes bright, her words absolutely sincere. Utterly different from Peter, but it still cut him the same way, still took his breath away as his dick twitched. 

They _both_ smiled as they caught the movement. 

“You will,” Peter promised and Kira turned, grinning with such an earnest _eagerness_ that Bobby forgot to breathe. Peter kissed her, a quick peck. “When you tease him, he gets _loud.”_

“He does?” Bobby was weak in the knees, crawling on the bed just so he could watch them, Peter stretching out on his back while Kira straddled him, her slender hands trailing up Peter’s chest. “I’d always wondered.” 

She said it like she was talking about the sun rising, as though the very thought of Kira _wondering,_ thinking about him… didn’t make Bobby groan. They both turned to watch him, Peter’s smile venomous while Kira’s was adoring. She sank down onto Peter with an _Ooh, that’s… that’s nice_ while Peter gripped her hips tightly, a wrinkle forming between his brow. 

“Kira,” Peter’s voice wavered, “I’ve been close for a while now, I’m—” His breath stuttered as Kira began to move, lazily rolling her hips with a lazy, carefree smile. “I won’t last.” 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Bobby came up behind Kira, rolling his hips against her ass, half-hard, while his fingers found her clit. “I got’cha.” 

He kept his mouth on her shoulders, apparently they were very sensitive, and let her take it slow, even when Peter came, she kept moving, and when she came it was with an easy-going sigh, Bobby smiled against her pulse while Peter held her hands with a dazed look on his face. It only took a few breaths for Peter to come back to himself, sitting up so he could get his arms around them both.

“We,” he kissed Kira, then Peter, “are the picture of loveliness.” 

Kira snorted.

“Well, this picture of loveliness would like to clean the come off her thighs.” 

Bobby laughed, loud and obnoxious, his teeth clipping the edge of Kira’s shoulder. Peter rolled his eyes, unable to fight the smile on his face while Kira leaned back against Bobby and giggled. It might have taken over forty years for the three of them to come together… but every moment that led them to now had been utterly worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> .....  
> ...........  
> .................
> 
> DON'T LOOK AT ME I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED.
> 
> Okay I do. Look I just wanted like... Bobby to be loved but then I wanted Kira to be loved and then I thought how Peter and Kira would totally tag-team Finstock to overwhelm him aaaaaand this happened. 
> 
> Welp. If you made it this far. Thank you. And I hope you enjoyed it! I enjoyed writing it and... I hope the smut was okay, since it's not really my forte. It was a blast to write and uh.... figure out all the positions and... actions. 
> 
> I'm going to go hide now.
> 
> Please let me know what you think!
> 
>  
> 
> Come say hi to me on [**tumblr**](http://mia6363.tumblr.com/), and if you want to know how to support me.


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